


On and On (From the Beginning)

by FreshBrains



Category: The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Alexandria Safe-Zone, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, M/M, Married Couple, Multi, Multiamory March, POV Daryl, Polyamory Negotiations, Season/Series 05
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-09
Updated: 2015-03-09
Packaged: 2018-03-17 01:50:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,546
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3510701
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FreshBrains/pseuds/FreshBrains
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Daryl’s never been good at words or kisses.</p>
            </blockquote>





	On and On (From the Beginning)

**Author's Note:**

> Written after 5.13 "Forget," so **spoilers** up until then.

Eric does this thing with his lips, and Daryl notices.  He tries not to, honest, he’s never been the man to make a go at what isn’t his, but Eric’s not like the men he used to see in the garages and bars before the walkers or the unshaved, unwashed men at camps and on the road.  Neither is Aaron, but then again, neither is all of Alexandria.  Eric’s thin and smiling and handsome and dresses in the sort of nice clothes Daryl’s only seen on TV, and he speaks fast without calculating his words first.

Eric grins, and that’s real nice because it’s bright and _real_ and Daryl has always liked a smile like that, but then he tucks his grin in like he’s shy from it, and licks his lips like he’s sealing in a secret.  Then he ducks his chin in towards his collar and looks away and Daryl can’t understand a damn thing about that man but he knows he _wants_.

Instead, he looks away and reaches for the dirty rag in his back pocket and wipes his hands off, trying to make sense of the engine parts out on the table in front of him when all he can think about is Eric standing barefoot in the garage doorway.

*

Aaron’s quiet, but in a different way than Daryl is.  He’s soft-spoken and polite, knows when to bite his tongue.  He also looks out the window during suppers and parties like he’d much rather be somewhere else—somewhere where he can hold hands with his man more than just under the table, where he can exhale for the first time since he stepped foot on public ground.

“It gets better,” he says, leaning against the porch railing on Abraham and Rosita’s house after a particularly taxing housewarming for a newly arrived husband and wife.  Daryl’s working on stringing a new bow and the porch-light works better than the moon.  “But not great.”

Daryl knows exactly what he means, and doesn’t bother asking him anything else.  As they sit in companionable silence, the mosquitoes and crickets singing their song around them, Daryl finally understands why Aaron and Eric work so well together.

*

Daryl’s never been good at words or kisses.  There were a few girls, a few guys, a long dry spell when he was living with Merle and trying to keep the cops away from their door, but nothing to get excited about.  He never thinks about it much until he sees Aaron pull Eric up onto the porch railing and kiss him senseless, wands roving, eyes slammed shut.

“Come on, the neighbors,” Eric laughs against Aaron’s neck, squirming into his husband’s touches.  “They’ll see.”

Daryl stands in front of the screen door and clears his throat, no matter how nice they look all pressed up against each other.  “I’m headin’ home.  Be back ‘round six tomorrow.”

Eric gently pushes Aaron away and Aaron startles as he turns around, almost knocking Eric into the vegetable garden below.

“So soon?  I can make coffee,” Aaron says, face flushing, but Daryl knows he’s just being a good host.  He can almost see the way Aaron’s hands inch towards Eric, the way his chest rises and falls deeply with each breath.

Daryl gives them half a smile and lopes down the porch.  “Get some rest.”

“Don’t be a stranger,” Eric calls into the dark, and then his soft laughter is muffled by another kiss.  He always says that as Daryl leaves, but this time, Daryl knows he’ll listen.  His lips buzz on the short walk back to the house at the thought of pressing a kiss to the unmarked skin at the base of Eric’s throat, and then at the idea of Aaron cupping his neck and pulling him in close.

“You’re out late,” Rick says from his porch where he’s sitting with Michonne.  She’s got Judith in her lap and their tiny radio plays an ancient Linda Ronstadt cassette tape they found in the basement.

“Getting into trouble?” Michonne asks, eyes wicked, and Daryl wants to run up the porch and grab Judith from her and give her a kiss, steal the attention away—the meanest he could possibly get with Michonne.

“I wish,” Daryl says, and sits on the last step, fishing in his pocket for an old Bic lighter he found when they were digging up ground for a new shed.  He doesn’t have any more cigarettes but he likes to flick it to life and watch the light, trying hard to keep away the temptation to press it against his wrist.  “No way for me to get in trouble ‘round here.”

Rick tosses him a bottle of water and he accepts it, glad he’d got somewhere to go at night.

“Give it time,” Rick says as he closes his eyes and leans back in his chair, tie loose around his neck.

Rick’s always been too smart for his own good.

*

“Gimme that,” Eric says, nodding towards Daryl’s vest.  It’s resting on the workbench next to the tools, probably smelling like death, the fading angel wings crumpled with the fabric.  “I’ll fix the hole in the arm.”

“You don’t gotta do that,” Daryl says, even though he’s tried and failed to fix that damn thing a dozen times.  He knows he needs to get rid of it and get a new one, but it’s gotten him this far.  And he knows there’s stereotypes about sweet guys like Eric, guys who talk like him and walk like him, and Daryl doesn’t play into that bullshit.

“My mom was a seamstress,” Eric says with a shrug, taking the vest gently, giving Daryl time to tell him to stop if he wants.  “It’s in my blood.  No biggie.”  Daryl lets him take the vest inside and in twenty minutes, he walks back out with the hole patched up and the vest still smelling like Daryl’s body, but not unclean anymore.

“Good as new,” Eric says cheerfully, heading back into the house.  “Come in for a soda in a minute, okay?”

*

Aaron kisses Daryl first, which is surprising.  Daryl thinks an awful lot about kissing these two men but he never thought it would be one of _them_ kissing _him_ , he’s usually not a lucky guy like that.  They’re on border patrol around the fence, rifles still slung over their shoulders, and Aaron smells like grass and sweat and his lips are a little chapped and he gets Daryl hard in his jeans in two seconds just with the way he pulls back all surprised like he’s not sure if Daryl liked it or not.

Daryl cups Aaron’s neck in his hand, thumb swirling in the short hairs at the nape.  “I wanna keep kissing you, but not if it would break your man up bad.”

Aaron huffs out a laugh and leans into Daryl, body strong and sure.  “He’s been waiting for me to make a move.  Wanted me to be the brave one for once.”

Daryl’s not sure how these things work, if it’s alright to put your mouth on a man and then do the same to his partner and have everyone be happy about it, but it’s a different world they live in, and damned if Daryl’s ever really going to figure it all out.

*

Eric slings his legs over Daryl’s lap, lying across the bed.  He looks as nice naked as he does clothed, all angles and pale skin and an ass that Daryl’s only dreamed about being in the presence of.  “You can’t ever do that again.  Please?”

Daryl feels cold all over for a moment and stiffens, wondering if he’s made a terrible mistake.  The room smells like the three of them, of their night together, their clothes in a tangled pile of te floor.  Aaron looks up from where he’s sitting at the foot of the bed pulling his boots on for morning chores, and raises an eyebrow at Eric.

“This,” Eric clarifies, picking up Daryl’s rough, calloused hand and gently grazing his thumb over the cigarette burns near his palm.  “It kills me.  My old man you used to it to me and my sisters, and it hurt like nothing else.  You need to stop it right now.” He looks up, eyes a little watery.  “Let us help you.”

Aaron doesn’t say anything, but he curls his fingers around Daryl’s bare ankle, squeezing it gently.

“No more,” Daryl agrees, and closes his eyes.  Eric curls into his side, smelling all nice and making his dick hard again, but all Daryl wants to do is hold him close.

*

They’ve got chickens now, Aaron and Eric, and Daryl likes feeding them in the morning when the air is still cool and damp.  He wears a pair of Aaron’s boots and one of his flannel shirts—Eric’s still in bed, wrapped up in Daryl’s tee shirt from the day before.

Aaron brings out a cup of coffee and Daryl sets the feed pail in the dirt and joins him in the grass.  There’s a mist in the air, not yet burned off by the sun.

“I think,” Aaron says, and pauses.  “I think we might be okay.”

Daryl doesn’t agree.  Not yet.  But he might think it a little bit.

**Author's Note:**

> Title from Robert Earl Keen's "On and On."


End file.
